I stumbled into a ghetto grocery store in ABQ last night looking damn dapper.   A brown fuzzy hat, sleek black very high-heeled boots, a lacey purple skirt and a green scarf thingie wrapped around my chest to keep warm.

In the line to check out, a man with about four teeth remaining in his head looked me up and down and slowly smiled. “Well . . . you sure do dress . . . differ’nt.”

“I’m not from around here,” I smiled.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Neither am I.”